


Sanguine

by lxghtwoodlxve



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Hogwarts, Alternate Universe – Magic, Angst, British English, Emma Whitmore Is Her Own Warning, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Enemies, Hate at First Sight, Hurt/Comfort, In The Author's Defense She Was Left Unattended, It’s A Race! Against Time!, Miscommunication, Multi, Nuclear Trash Fire OT3, Oh Wait No Nevermind He’s Hot, Sass, Swearing, The Hogwarts AU No-One Asked For, Wyatt Is A Functional Human Being (Kind Of), Wyatt Logan’s Sexuality Crisis, aka messy boys, garcia flynn is a socially inept garbage fire, seer!jiya, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxghtwoodlxve/pseuds/lxghtwoodlxve
Summary: When ex-Auror and Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher David Baumgardner goes missing, Wyatt Logan volunteers to take over his friend’s old position, take down radical Death Eaters, and figure out where everyone's going. Falling in love wasn't really the goal either, but he'll take what he can get.[13/09/19: Discontinued until further notice.]





	1. Rufus I

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO I'M VERY EXCITED  
> i'm gonna try and update this weekly but i have a busy schedule now, so they'll happen when they happen. i hope that's okay!  
> biiiiig love to @deathbypastry for being so excited and encouraging i adore her, and to @madsthenerdygirl for existing. she is literal fic goals.  
> i hope you enjoy!!

“ _Professor?” He asked, bursting through, hitting his shoulder on the heavy wooden door. “Are you ready?”_

“ _Of course, of course, just a moment.” The Professor murmured, voice soft, body relaxed, dark hair falling over a slim shoulder. “Let me finish this letter.”_

“ _There’s no time, Professor. They’re through the gate.”_

“ _There is always time.”_

_The hallways were strewn with bodies, the air was cold, and the Professor hurried along next to him at best, and stumbled at worst. It was all he could think of to support, to hold, and yet, it wasn’t enough, not when the green spells lit the air like bullets. When the tall man aimed, he aimed true, and then, the battle was lost._

Jiya awoke with a start; the vision had taken her by surprise. As she got up from the floor, clutching her bruised head, she breathed a full, deep breath, praying to Muggle gods that she didn’t believe in that she was wrong, that she’d only seen the potential outcomes, that it could change.

She went back, again, hours later – just as the doubts had started to fade, just as the headache had been healed – she went there. The same again, a little softer around the edges, a little bolder in the details, brighter in colour and sharper in pain. They weren’t usually that clear, not from someone else’s eyes, but she was certain.

Hogwarts was doomed.

\---

Rufus really, really wanted a nap.

His day was going fine, he guessed – no new cases, a few old ones wrapped up, and he hadn’t been called to the meeting Karl, Emma, and Anthony had been stuck in for the last three hours. He’d avoided the latest Howler from his ex, and even his godforsaken cat hadn’t eaten today’s Daily Prophet yet. Opening letters was tedium, but necessary, and as bored as he was as he left for a lunch break, he returned in even worse condition. His ex had found his new address, and his ears hurt. Goddamn Howlers.

Time to move, he supposed. How in the name of Merlin’s boob job had she managed to find him again? Did she just have a beacon on him? Or he was bugged – _maybe the department toads are betraying me again_ , he thought, giving them a filthy look as he walked back in. Odd train of thought aside, he was stopped mid-stride by a very odd sight – surely everyone else had seen the gorgeous snowy owl sat on his desk, right? The one currently taking a shit on the Daily Prophet he hadn’t yet read?

He approached, cautious and exasperated, but the owl just stuck out her leg and glared at him. He snorted, taking the parchment, and rootled around in his desk for a nut treat. (She decided to accept it with a gracious tilt of her head, and took off immediately. There’s no rest for the wicked.)

He took one look at the Hogwarts wax seal and frowned. What could they want from him, of all people? He took it out and started reading.

 

_Mr Carlin,_

_By appointment of Headmistress McGonagall, I am tasked with finding a suitable substitute teacher for our very own Mr Wesson, Professor of Muggle Studies. Due to his disappearance, amongst others, it falls to me to request your immediate Apparition to Hogwarts (via Hogsmeade, of course) upon receiving this letter. You will meet another of our new staff members - Mr Wyatt Logan, of the Auror’s Department at the Ministry of Magic. Your Head of Department at Mason Incorporated has been notified, and so have your family. A cursory interview will be conducted by Professors Flitwick and Wallace upon your arrival. Please bring your personal belongings with you._

_Yours,_

_Denise Christopher, Head of Gryffindor House and Professor of Transfiguration_

 

He sighed. Why now? Just when they were finally making a breakthrough on the Time-Turner project, just when they needed a new gyroscope fitting to the navigators? Of course, he couldn’t refuse Professor Christopher, but this was definitely odd. He looked down again – it was her usual looping script, her bizarre Gs, the hurried wax seal on the envelope – it was all correct, but why did he feel a sudden, looming sense of doom?

He sighed again, resigned to this definitely awful new path, and packed his things. Once that meeting’s ended-

“Hey, Rufus. Off somewhere?” Karl murmured, leaning against Rufus’ desk, attempting a genuine smile. If you asked him (and Nia, the new girl, had done), he thought Karl was definitely emotionally constipated, and probably a sociopath. Or perhaps both.

“Nowhere fun.” He waved the letter in Karl’s general direction, his head stuck in his desk. “That old Time-Turner, hang on… got it!”

“No-one wants that, dumbass.” Emma snorted, and then grinned, feral, as Karl pushed off from the desk and slapped the letter into Rufus’ case. She grabbed it, scanning the words quicker than he could get his head out of his desk, and placed it back into his trunk.

“Those poor kids, they don’t know what’s gonna hit them.” She teased, as Karl and Anthony helped Rufus round up his scattered belongings.

“Better me than you. You’d scare them to death.” Emma’s snort barely reached his ears, but it still made him grin, face buried in his desk. Irritating her was a vital part of his career, even if she was the best at Levitation Charms and could probably out-curse him. It’s all about the details, you know?

As he finally got finished, he stood and looked around. Most of his things were at home, sure, but his desk looked empty, and that was… bad. Bad memories. Very bad, not good memories. Karl seemed to pick this up, and grabbed a little picture from his top drawer.

“You can’t- Karl, no, I can’t- what?” He protested, trying to shove it back into Karl’s hands. “You love this, Karl, I can’t take it. No way, man.”

Karl just smiled, easy-going, and said nothing. He didn’t need to – to Rufus, it was a clear message.

“What the Hell does he need that for?” Emma groaned, throwing another letter straight in the bin. She looked like she was considering throwing it at them, but seemingly remembered that the last time she’d done that, Karl had Bat-Bogeyed her very thoroughly. It had been, in Rufus’ very professional opinion, incredible.

His smile wavered a little, though, when he looked back at the picture. He thanked Karl with a quick hug, waved at Anthony, and ignored Emma’s saccharine smile. He looked down at the picture as he left – a portrait of him, Jiya, and Karl in their second year. Youthful glow, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, warm eyes, their arms around each other. It did make him smile, in a sad sort of way, but he really only saw what Karl meant by it.

_Don’t mess this one up._

\---

“Mum? You home?” He called out, setting his trunk down by the front door.

“Kitchen!” She yelled back, and he grinned. He’d missed this.

Despite making it a habit to write every week, and visit at least once a month, he’d been slacking lately, and he could tell that she was worried. She’d never send him a Howler, she’d never complain like his brother did, but he could tell that she needed to see him before he left. He made his way past the living room, waved hello to the portrait of his grandfather (who just puffed his pipe and ignored him, as usual), and entered the dining room.

“Hi, mum.” They hugged, gentle but firm, and Rufus breathed in the scent of home. “You okay?”

“I’d be better if you wrote more, love, but I’m good. Are you? What’s this thing at Hogwarts?”

“I don’t know. I hope it’s short, we’ve been making some breakthroughs in the Time-Turner project.” He grinned. “I just came to see you before I left. Professor Christopher doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Well, I’m sure she can wait a little longer. You look like you aren’t eating properly, Rufus, you know how I feel about that.” She steered him towards the table, grabbed a bowl of piping hot soup, and set it down in front of him. “Tell me all about it, honey.”

\---

Okay, he only sort of wanted a nap, but the Apparition to Hogsmeade had been kind of shaky, and he was sure he’d Splinched off a few brain cells in the process. And even more worrying was the distinct lack of people around here. Add recent events? The Death-Eater rumours, the disappearances? He could understand how quiet it could be, especially without students running rampant around the place.

This, though – this was eerie. Like, ‘horror movie watched in pitch black while a demon destroys your life’ eerie.

He trudged his lonely way up to the castle gates, levitating his trunk and briefcase in front of him as he went (take that, Emma!), and waited. He felt, rather than heard, the other guy walk up, but it still took him by surprise – and he didn’t like what he saw.

Now, Rufus had always been raised to see past how someone looked, his mother had always taught him that, but this guy was a _trainwreck._

Hair flying everywhere, his trunk’s clasps straining against its contents, and his robes were tattered and muddy – it was an absolute disaster. But the pure relief on this guy’s face at seeing him was what made him pause (not that he would have cared normally, but this man was clearly distressed and in need of help. Like, professional help. From a therapist.)

“It’s, uh, Rufus, right?” He muttered as he hurried up, his words barely distinguishable beneath a strong Scottish accent and him slamming his wand messily into his robe pocket. He shoved his hand out towards Rufus, and attempted a grin that looked a little too manic. “I’m Wyatt Logan.”

“Uh, hi, yeah. Rufus Carlin.” Rufus shook his hand, somewhat reluctantly. It was rather muddy.

“Sorry about, uh.” Wyatt looked embarrassed.

“The …mud?”

“Yeah. That. I landed in the swamp.” He had the good grace to fish his wand out and clean up his robes, but didn’t offer Rufus anything. Not that Rufus was being petty, of course, but he was cold too, and he could see the steam rising on Wyatt’s freshly laundered clothes. But then the castle gates opened, and a cart pulled up – they looked at each other and Rufus shrugged, getting up into the surprisingly warm carriage. Wyatt staggered a little as he got in, as if the spell had taken something out of him, and Rufus frowned. Was he ill? 

Wyatt noticed that he noticed, and after a few moments of moderately uncomfortable silence, huffed out a small laugh. “I didn’t know I was gonna be working tonight, so I’m a little...”

“Drunk. You’re drunk.” Rufus sighed. This day was just going absolutely great, and he wasn’t sure it could get worse, but he’d said it now. Sod’s law, and all that.

“Maybe. Just fulfilling the Glaswegian stereotype, of course, and as I said-” He paused, looking at him. Like really, really looking at him, his soft, low voice halted in its tracks. “Wait, you said you’re Rufus _Carlin_?”

“...Yeah?” This was weird.

“You’re Gryffindor, right?”

“What? Yeah...” Getting weirder.

“Aren’t you the one who punched that Slytherin guy… uh, Nick?” Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose, racking his brains. “Nick Keynes, I think? In your third year?”

Rufus nodded, wary. If this idiot was going to start trouble, he wasn’t sure what would happen – they’re supposed to be future coworkers, right, but if this guy was a moron, Rufus wasn’t going to suffer fools. He opened his mouth ready to start ranting, but Wyatt’s eyes had suddenly lit up.

“Aw, man – I remember that, it was _badass_! Everybody in my common room was talking about it for weeks! He’d been a real arsehole to a load of us, you were like a hero.” He laughed a little, eyes bright and his smile wide, and Rufus couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, I was, uh, in my first or second year, I think.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really. Everything up to my O.W.Ls was a blur, to be honest.” His face dropped a little and he played with the hem of his sleeve. “Anyway. Enough of me – what about you?”

“What about me?” Rufus gave him an odd look and shrugged. “Uh, I was born and raised in Kent, and now I work at Mason Incorporated.”

“That must be cool,” Wyatt offered, a little grin growing on his face.

“Yeah, it is. But you’re an Auror, right? Do you know anything about what’s been happening?” Rufus frowned, leaning forward to look properly at Wyatt.

“No. The only reason I requested this assignment is because I want to know, too.”

“You… _requested_ this assignment?”

“Yeah,” Wyatt swallowed, resting his head against the carriage walls. “Dave, he... Professor Baumgardner, sorry, he, we… we were friends. I just want to help them figure it out.”

\---

They’d gotten up to the castle quite quickly, conversation flowing between them despite such a rocky start, reminiscing of the Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff Quidditch match in Rufus’ sixth year where two players had been hospitalised and one seeker had been in the Infirmary for a week, remembering when there had been a Mandrake accident in Wyatt’s third year, and they’d just started on the last Triwizard Tournament when they’d gotten up to the castle doors.

“Hi?” A bold, Welsh voice had said from behind them, just as they entered the courtyard.

Wyatt nearly shit himself.

Rufus almost didn’t snort, but he couldn’t quite help himself. Wyatt gave him what the Muggles would call ‘side eye’ and moved backwards, further towards the flight of stairs up to the main entrance. The woman – soft hazel eyes, pretty face, athletic body – moved with him, beckoning with a quick flick of her hair for Rufus to follow them, robes billowing.

“I’m Amy Wallace, and I’m one of the groundskeepers of Hogwarts. My sister, Lucy, the History teacher, will be conducting your induction. That’s later, though.” He followed the two of them up towards to castle, and gasped as he entered – even after the events of the Second Wizarding War, the castle had retained its splendour. The staircases above still moved just how he remembered them, the paintings were still just as lively (a few of them waved to Wyatt like old friends, which he supposed they must have been) and even the random cats and toads roaming the corridors were almost endearing. They started working their way upwards.

“So, Miss Wallace, you’re the groundskeeper? Do you know anything about these disappearances?” Wyatt started, and Rufus found himself squinting at the charming smirk on his face, the lilt in his voice. Was he… flirting? For information?

“I have a wife.” She growled, stopping stock still in the middle of the hallway, just where Rufus could almost trip over her. She glared at him, five foot six of pure righteous indignation, and Rufus almost grinned. “Jessica, my wife, she was the last groundskeeper. She went missing a few weeks ago. Went into the Forbidden Forest and never came out again, so the job’s fallen to me.”

(If he wasn’t suddenly and immeasurably afraid of her, and if she wasn’t talking about her missing wife, Rufus would be laughing. As it is, he had a little more tact than Wyatt did.)

“No, I wasn’t, that wasn’t-,” Wyatt stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I’m… sorry?”

Amy acquiesced, nodding at him before starting up a long staircase. She patted Wyatt’s shoulder as she passed him, ignoring all the gawking paintings and going further up, onto the first floor. Wyatt fell into stride beside Rufus as he spoke, smiling awkwardly. Rufus smiled back, lips pressed together, a habit, but his mind was still turning. This guy was really, really weird. Even for a Scot.

“Oh, and if you’re going to be asking questions? ” Amy stopped suddenly outside a classroom at the end of the winding corridor. “Don’t flirt your way to answers. Here you go. The History of Magic classroom.”

Wyatt and Rufus made eye contact, apprehensive, as Amy knocked on the heavy wooden door. A smooth Welsh voice - softer and far more neutral than Amy’s - invited them in, and they both gasped softly at the view.

When Rufus had been at Hogwarts, Professor Binns’ classes had been nicknamed “naptime” - a period just to watch him phase through the blackboard, make a few notes, try your best, and then sigh in mock despair when you failed the class every year. But this room, oh my _god_ this room, was so drastically different it physically shocked him. Where before it had been cramped and dark, it was now so light and airy it practically blinded him. The desks had been pushed into the middle, a massive arc facing a small chalkboard and the teacher’s desk; the literal cobwebs had been replaced with the hand-drawn maps and different Muggle posters filling the walls; and the petite brunette stood on a chair reaching for the chandelier was definitely _not_ the ghostly Professor Binns.

Wyatt was having the same train of thought, if his shell-shocked look was to be judged. She was quite beautiful, in a small, elvish sort of way, and he could see why Wyatt was struggling for words. She greeted them cheerfully, looking down at them before almost slipping off the stool. Wyatt rushed forwards to catch her, but she ended up righting herself almost immediately, and they stood there in abashed silence for a moment, a tableau of awkward.

“Sorry, oh, hang on...” She muttered, snapping out of it and burying her face in the chandelier again, wedging out a small screwdriver from the metal and then hopping back down from her perch. “You must be Wyatt Logan, right? And Rufus Carlin?”

“That’s us,” Rufus shook her hand gently – she was _miniscule_ – and took another look around the room.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Wyatt got to it before he could, and then proceeded to blush like a fire hydrant. She was looking at him like she wanted to both smack and kiss him at the same time, and Rufus didn’t know what to do with that, so he decided to walk away and leave them to it, strolling across the room to look at a printed timeline of ‘British and American Wizarding History’. All the while he could hear Lucy asking questions, Wyatt stuttering barely intelligible answers, and Amy was nowhere to be seen.

It was entirely hilarious.

When they finally got around to talking about the school, Rufus found he was increasingly apprehensive of their schedules. Taking joint-house classes had seemed fun when you were an innocent student and were just looking for an Exceeds Expectations on your O.W.L.; when you’re teaching twenty students who were a mix of Slytherin and Gryffindor and most of them don’t know the difference between TV and movies, it’s a whole different goose. And boy did Rufus hate geese.

Professor Wallace remembered them in a vague sort of way, apparently; she was just a year older than Rufus, and three older than Wyatt. Somehow Rufus hadn’t expected someone so young, but she walked with this air of authority which, once you considered that she was a Ravenclaw and had probably gotten an Outstanding in every qualification she’d ever taken, was understandable. They started making their ways along the corridors while she spoke, giving them little bits of advice like “don’t let the kids eat in class,” and “many of them will hate you anyway, so just do your best and you’ll be fine.”

Rufus knew she was messing with them, but he couldn’t help the growing apprehension in his gut. He was also very hungry, which didn’t help. They’d managed to make their way up two floors to Wyatt’s classroom.

“Unfortunately, our offices aren’t anywhere near our classrooms, but we make do. We passed your office, Wyatt, one floor down, and Rufus, yours is right next to the Muggle Studies showroom on the fifth floor. Lots of stairs, I’m afraid.” Lucy grinned at them. “And Wyatt, this is your classroom here. It’s a little messy, due to the speed at which Professor Baumgardner….left.  But, I’m sure you can get it ready before term starts?”

Wyatt nodded, and took his cue to open the door - it was a mess. Broken glass, cobwebs, books strewn across the floor. If Rufus was shocked, he couldn’t imagine how Wyatt must be feeling. “What happened here? Do you know?”

“I’m afraid not, Wyatt. You’ll have to ask Professor Flynn, our resident potions master - they were quite close. He’s usually in the dungeons.”

Wyatt let out a dejected little sigh, and grabbed his trunk from the floor, apprehension visible on his face.

Rufus gave Wyatt a jaunty little wave as they left him to it.

\---

Dinner was much appreciated.

It was a small do, just the staff that were there and their pets - Rufus wished he’d brought his little toad, but his brother said he’d look after her until Rufus could come and get her.

(Toads don’t do well with Apparition.)

He entered the Great Hall, marveling again at the ceiling. He remembered overhearing something someone had said when they were kids, something about how it’s enchanted to look like the sky at that moment, but Rufus just thought it was gorgeous. He tried not to trip over the ginger tomcat winding its way around his feet, and shoved himself down next to Wyatt, who looked a little worse for wear. While the carriage ride had sobered him a little, he still wasn’t completely there yet, and Rufus could tell. He was doing a good job of pretending, though.

Rufus ladled his plate full of stew and a healthy dollop of mashed potatoes. He felt obliged to take a few of the roasted vegetables, too, but Wyatt glared at them like they’d killed his family.

“Not a stew kind of guy?” Rufus grinned. It was delicious, warm and hearty, and perfect for the permanent drizzle that had seemed to rest around the castle since they got there. “It’s great, you know.”

“Just not hungry. Might drop by the kitchens later, though.” Wyatt did seem kind of green, now that Rufus looked closer.

“Careful.” Rufus warned, waving his fork in Wyatt’s general direction. “You do that too much, you might get in trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rufus was waved off as Wyatt poured himself another cup of pumpkin juice, and drank it slowly. “I don’t feel so good, so I’m going to go sleep. I’ll see you at breakfast, pal.”

It wasn’t quite concern that took over Rufus’ brain as Wyatt left, but it was something close. He just needed to watch out for him. Like a moronic puppy.

“You alright, mate?” A broad Yorkshire accent filtered through his thoughts, and he realised he’d been staring at the candles for about five minutes. “Oi, you okay?”

“Huh?” _Eloquent, Rufus, great job._ “Oh, yeah, uh, sorry. Zoned out a minute.”

“Eh, don’t worry. Happens to me, too.” She extended a surprisingly large hand over the table to him. “Um. I’m Natasha. Hufflepuff. I teach languages.”

“I’m Rufus, Muggle Studies.” Rufus met her slightly crooked grin with one of his own, and took a drink. “Languages, huh? Like, Muggle ones?”

“Yeah. I do some old timey wizarding dialects too, at N.E.W.T. level, but it’s mostly just for those who want to do it.” She ate for a moment, tucked her long auburn hair behind her ear, and then frowned. “Rufus… the, uh, the Gryffindor Rufus?”

“Yeah. Are you gonna ask me about the time I punched Nick Keynes?”

“...Maybe.”

Rufus stifled a laugh, letting out a highly amused huffing noise. He was sure he was gonna like working here.

Famous last words.

 


	2. Wyatt I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is alternatively titled, Wyatt Is Messy As Fuck And The Author Has No Excuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AGAIN  
> okay so mads had the best reaction ever to the last shout out and i'm too chaotic to not do it again so there. mwah.  
> and also @deathbypastry beta'd this! <3 <3  
> stay safe y'all!

Wyatt Logan was going to actually break his neck jumping off the Astronomy Tower. That’s how awful he felt.

He got up as quickly as he dared with his head pounding like that, and shuffled his way over to his final unpacked trunk. His quarters were coming along nicely, but his little hangover potion was stuffed in the bottom of this one, amongst the other useless junk he threw in there during his hasty packing. He drank as much as he could stomach (which was definitely more than he was allowed). He settled into his beaten old armchair to let it take effect.

“God,” He groaned, pressing his head into his hands and trying not to vomit. He’d swear to you he didn’t have a drinking problem, but if Rufus could see it, everyone else could too. Probably. Wyatt tended to reside in this cycle of self-loathing, frayed nerves, and handling things by setting the Forbidden Forest on fire. As the potion worked it’s magic, he felt his head clearing slightly, and in that split second he decided to get rid his liquor bottles.

He flicked his wand, muttering out the Vanishing Spell for each one. He considered for a moment, then got up to grab the last bottle. Putting it in his trunk next to the hangover potion seemed like a good idea, and having something around just in case also seemed important.

He excused it as simultaneous antiseptic and pain relief. Just in case.

He settled on wrapping them up in a frankly  _ filthy _ pair of robes so it didn’t break, and shoved it next to his Peruvian Darkness Powder, and other miscellaneous ‘spy stuff’. That’s what Dave had called it anyway, a teasing lilt to his voice and a glimmer in his eye. Wyatt would have pretended annoyance, waved him off, and slipped it in his pocket anyway, because even if he did protest, he liked having an edge. Something his opponent wouldn’t have thought of.

Immediately regretting that train of thought, he closed the trunk and shoved it under the bed. He then proceeded to sit on the floor, panting slightly.

He’s fit, that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t hard work.

After a moment, Wyatt charmed his quills and ink bottles to fill the gap in his shelves the bottles had left, feeling much better already, and worked his way over to his wardrobe in the front of the room. He opened the hidden door in the back of it to go into his proper office, leaving his new bedroom, and sat down. The clock on the mantelpiece proclaimed was 6.30am, and that Hogwarts was safe, so he sat at his desk and sighed. A couple of hours until breakfast, and then he’d eat, feel better, and get a lot of planning done. He hoped.

Now that his head wasn’t throbbing, he was drifting off to sleep again. He was almost there when a sharp knock resounded through the room, and in Wyatt’s groggy state all he could do was mumble out a greeting, fumbling for his wand.

“Mr Logan? Oh, you poor thing.” He cracked open an eyelid at the gently mocking tone to see not Rufus, as he thought it was, but Professor Denise Christopher. He couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Hey, no sympathy, Professor. I did this to me.” He sat up straight in the chair, finally bothering to give his wand a wiggle so his robes were clean. He couldn’t be bothered with his hair, and if the smirk on the Professor’s face was anything to go by, she knew it. She also seemed faintly amused at his croaky voice, but she was doing a good job of hiding it.

“Alright then, if you say so.” She stopped just short of his chair, and offered him a hand up. He took it, and she steadied him with a gentle pat on the cheek. “You should write more, you know. I like hearing from you.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, um. It’s not been great.” At her concerned look, he continued. “I’m not drinking as much, though. I, uh, Vanished all my liquor just now.”

Her smile hurt his chest.

When he was a child, he’d never known his mother - she’d gone, or died, or whatever, and he hadn’t even known her name until he started at Hogwarts. His dad had been abusive, even when he was small. He’d been bullied even before he knew he was a wizard, just for being dirty and having bruises. That’s an understatement, he knows, but then he went to Hogwarts, and they found out he was Muggleborn, and that had just made it worse. His father hated what he didn’t understand.

There was so much that Wyatt didn’t even tell him. What do you say when you’re writing home and your own dad hates your guts? His classes, sure, they were going well. Lies. His friends were all nice. Lies. His teachers seemed to like him. Lies. He didn’t need any more money because they didn’t have any anyways, so don’t bother, Dad, thanks.

And then, in his second year, Professor Christopher started teaching him. And oh, boy, did she make up for it all. She’d stay in her room late to help him with his homework, just like she did everyone else. She always had a biscuit tin floating around somewhere, and she’d let him have one if his dad hadn’t written back (or worse, that one time he did). Professor Christopher was the one person he didn’t ask for, but would never, ever replace.

And in that moment, she looked at him like she’d never been prouder. She’d seen him low, she’d seen him damn near suicidal, and he’d gotten through it, and she’d said, every time, that she was proud.

Wyatt was near tears from how sudden and….and  _ overwhelming _ the emotions were, but all the Professor did was pat him on the cheek again, tenderly, and whirl around to inspect his office. He saw through her, though. She was giving him a moment to collect himself, and she hummed in approval at the books on his shelf and the Muggle paintings on his wall.

  
He took it with both hands. Busied himself with summoning a teapot and two cups, spouting hot water from his wand like a faucet. Giving them both a moment to adjust. A new reality.

“Uh, Professor? Would you like some tea?” At her quick glance at the teapot, he assured her. “It’s Earl Grey, don’t worry. I remember.”

“Thank you, Wyatt.” She sat down, folding herself onto the chair she’d summoned opposite the desk. “You can call me Denise, you know. I’m not your teacher any more.”

“It feels a bit odd. I’m sure I’ll adjust, though.” He opened his desk and took out a box of ginger biscuits.

The knowing little grin on her face made his whole day.

\---

Okay, so they’d missed breakfast, but Denise was never actually hungry and Wyatt had spent three weeks in the desert fighting Death Eaters, so he’d be fine for another four days if he had to be.

Still, under Denise’s instructions, he had to go to the kitchens to get at least something to eat, because “you’ve only just gotten here, Logan, you need to keep yourself fed. Denise’s orders.” So, he’s managed to find himself down by his old common room, knocking on the door to ask for food he didn’t really want from people that were far too busy to pay him any mind. Sounds fun, right?

But a tiny hand opened the door, and massive eyes looked him up and down before deciding to let him in.

It was  _ chaos. _

About thirty House Elves were scattered around the place, working frantically to cook the first feast of the school year - he saw at least ten turkeys being prepared for cooking, genuine barrels full to the brim with peeled vegetable of various kinds, and an actual, real life  _ vat  _ of gravy being stirred by a tiny elf stood on top of a step ladder. One of the elves tore himself away from his pile of potatoes to greet him, taking him by the hand over to a different pile. Parsnips.

“It’s all here, sir! Young sir, is there anything else we need?” The elf was excited, jumping up and down amidst all of his bustling co-workers. “I was thinking maybe some stuffed mushrooms, but it’s all up to you, sir!”

Wyatt almost laughed. They thought he was in charge of them - he had to sit on his haunches to get to eye level with the poor thing, but his smile didn’t waver.

“I’m not here to supervise, pal.” The elf’s face dropped, and Wyatt hastily continued. “It looks like you’re doing a fantastic job, though. Really.”

“Then why are you here, young sir?”

“I was wondering if you had any leftovers from breakfast? I missed the main event, but I can’t bear to see any wasted effort.” Wyatt grinned at the wonder on the elf’s face as he ran off to get a plate. Two more elves joined in, grabbing toast and marmalade and even some cold sausages to pile up onto the first elf’s already full plate. He had to fend off other elves who were trying to stuff scones into his robe pockets, laughing and thanking them profusely as they did so. A moment later he knelt down again, opposite the first elf.

“Can I just ask…” Wyatt began. The elf stopped in his tracks, arms nearly buckling under the weight of all the food. “What’s your name?”

  
“It’s Hodby, sir! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

“Thank you, Hodby. Truly.” Wyatt stood up as Hodby forced the plate into his hands, grinning widely, and made his way over to the exit. “It all smells great, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, sir! Come back again soon!”

\---

  
Wyatt couldn’t actually finish all the food they’d given him, so he wrapped up the scones and put them on a stand in his office. He’d originally intended that stand for a model of a Bowtruckle, but he supposed scones would do instead.

It was about noon when he actually left his office, and he made his way down to his classroom to try and get some sense of order to the place. Thankfully, he knew a spell that would return rooms and even entire houses to their former glory, and he cast it the second he entered the room. It took a few minutes, and a few confused beads from the old chandelier flew around the room for a moment before blinking out of existence, but when he looked around it almost choked him. Dave was  _ everywhere. _

His good mood from the kitchens vanished immediately.

He was in the desks, the walls, every artefact and spell diagram and textbook just reeked of him. There were a few articles from the Daily Prophet about him framed on the walls, and Wyatt almost choked. Dave was confident in his abilities and his team. He was proud. He had a right to be proud.

(One of them did make Wyatt smile. Just a bit. A picture of the two of them, arms around each other, grinning at the camera, the very picture of mischief. He took that one down first.)

He almost couldn’t bring himself to look. His breath stuttered in his chest, tears threatening to spill; Aurors weren’t supposed to be this emotional, his commanding officer said. They had to be impartial, they had to be ruthless. His dad had agreed with everything, praising Wyatt in his letters home for becoming a man. But Dave? Dave was his best friend, the other guy in the foxhole, the only other person on this Earth, Muggle or wizard, who had really understood him. He had to take a moment. He had to get this right.

_ He had to figure out what went wrong. He had a mission to uphold. _

It took him a while to breathe properly again. But then, desk by desk, he cleaned and scoured and tidied, Summoned his posters and textbooks, placed them on the shelves, and left all the artefacts exactly where they were. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. He finally got to Dave’s desk about two hours later, when the rest of the room was exactly how he wanted it. It was more like a Muggle classroom than the others had been, with the desks grouped in tables of six and the walls colourful with posters and diagrams and careful illustrations of defensive spell casting, wand techniques, et cetera et cetera. He couldn’t help but smile, pale and wan. If his father saw his classroom looking like this, he’d be black and blue for days. It was  _ perfect. _

He sat at Dave’s desk, satisfaction warming his chest, and he took a deep breath. This was what he was dreading the most.

It was empty.

Okay, it seemed empty at first - he opened it to see dusty papers and a few rubber bands. Dave was a Muggleborn, like him, and they had both preferred Muggle things like pens and notebooks. Their teachers had hated them.

But he knew Dave, and he knew his own training, too, so when the bottom of the desk popped up to reveal three books, Dave’s wand, and a note, he wasn’t surprised. Heart in his throat, he took them all out, one by one, and checked. The wand didn’t reveal anything interesting, but it was confusing enough why it was left behind. Hidden. The books - all ones that Wyatt had given him before he started at Hogwarts - were clean. No spells, no traps, nothing extraordinary. He leafed through them, skimming the pages, looking for symbols, notes scrawled in margins, invisible ink, but again, nothing. It was baffling.

The note, he saved for last. Wizard parchment, ink, written with a quill, sealed with wax. Again, he checked for enchantments, traps, offensive or defensive. Nothing. So, he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and went to open the note. All he saw was…

Holy shit. 

The Dark Mark. 

Drawn in perfect detail, with Latin scrawled underneath in a spiky, unfamiliar script.  _ The Dark Mark? _

Wyatt was baffled. 

“Professor Logan?” His head snapped up at the sharp knock on the door. It broke the moment, and in a blind panic he stuffed everything back into the secret compartment and slammed the door shut. He wiped his eyes. He took an even deeper breath.

“Come in!” He called, voice wavering, and winced to himself.

Lucy Wallace poked her head through the door, a small smile on her face, and he let out a shaky breath. He stood up to greet her, extending his hand. She looked incredibly amused at this, but shook it anyway.

“It looks nice in here. Modern.” She began, turning around to take it all in. He attempted a grin, which she returned. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Dave was always a… questionable decorator.”

He laughed at her conspiratorial wink, to which she looked incredibly pleased.

_ Like a cat that got the cream,  _ his traitorous brain supplied, and he tried very hard not to blush. He seemed to have a habit of doing that around this woman. But he sat back down at the desk, studiously ignoring his burning cheeks, and took his wand out to start Summoning some tea.

“Oh, no, Wyatt, I’m not a tea drinker, really. Thank you, though, it’s very kind.” She looked like she wanted to laugh at him, his body frozen mid-motion, and he tried to kick-start his brain again. “I just came to see how you were doing, that’s all.”

“I’m doing… well?” Wyatt replied, his head cocking to the side in confusion. “Forgive me - I’m a bit confused?”

“I came to check on you. I’ve been made aware that you and Dave were friends.” She smiled, awkward, and he wanted to smack himself.

“Oh, uh. Thank you.” He nodded, his body finally deciding that no, Lucy wasn’t just coming to insult him. Or refuse to drink some tea. Or whatever. “Would you like a seat? Or some coffee, perhaps?”

“Oh, no, that’s quite alright. Thank you.” She came around to his side of his desk, still observing the room. “I would like you to know, however... if you need my help? You just need to ask.”

“Your… help?”

“I ought to go now, Wyatt. I have lessons to plan. I hope you’re finding everything to your liking.” She circled back around to the door, and Wyatt was still just as confused as he was when she entered.

\---

He  _ had  _ to talk to Denise.

“Hey, Professor? Do you have a second?” He stuck his head around the door.

“Wyatt, I told you to call me Denise.” She spun around where she stood, and Rufus popped his head up from the desk where he was sat. She took one look at him, and her face dropped. “What’s wrong?”

“Um, I found something. In Dave’s room.” He fumbled in his robe pocket, grabbing the note and holding it out to her. “Please tell me that this isn’t what I think it is.”

She gave him a quizzical look, and took the note. She opened it with surprisingly steady hands, but gasped softly at the contents. 

She lowered it, meeting Wyatt’s somber gaze with one of her own - he could feel the tension, the upset, the...overwhelming _ grief _ that flowed between them. By the looks of it, Rufus could sense it too, and he was looking at Wyatt the same way Denise had. He stepped up behind her, and looked at the parchment from over her shoulder. 

“Wait, what? Wasn’t Dave one of your good buddies? Why would an Auror draw  _ that  _ and leave it in their desk?” Rufus looked between the two of them, confusion evident on his strong features. Neither Denise nor Wyatt could speak, but Denise ended up recovering first. 

“Dave… was. Is. A good man. He wouldn’t. He…” She breathed deeply, trying for composure, and finally met Rufus’ gaze. “I taught both Wyatt and Dave, from when they were both quite young. Many of the teachers here now are my ex-pupils. It’s an honour, of course, but… when you haven’t seen someone in ten, twenty years? A lot can change. He could have changed.”

The last part was directed at Wyatt, who flinched. 

“Dave wouldn’t. He’d only been here for what - three years? Barely?” He said. It was sharper than he intended. “A man like Dave doesn’t change that quickly. He’s my best friend, Denise, come on. I know him better than I know myself.”

“Maybe you don’t, Wyatt.” Denise was trying to be gentle. Wyatt knew. So did Rufus. 

That doesn’t mean it hurt any less. 

“No,  I do. Dave would  _ never  _ become a Death Eater, no matter what that note might imply.” He almost yelled the words, catching himself at the last minute and lowering his tone. “Ma’am, with all due respect, I know him better. He’s the human embodiment of a golden retriever. He’d never turn coats… robes… whatever. He just wouldn’t.”

“Okay. Why is it there, then?” Rufus was still confused, but even as he said the words, Wyatt could see his mind working at a million miles an hour. “Are there any people on staff who would do this? Like, plant it there?”

“Well…” Denise began. “There is someone. A Slytherin. He’s not the nicest, but I thought he and Dave got along quite well, actually.”

Rufus snorted. “All Slytherins are secretly Death Eaters?”

“Then by that rule it’s impossible. Dave is a Gryffindor.” Wyatt muttered, grabbing the note again.

“No, Rufus, he’s… misunderstood. He’s close with your old friend Jiya.” Denise glared at Rufus, and understanding passed between them. Rufus winced. “She’s our Divination professor, you know. You could go and visit her.”

“Maybe. But who is this guy, anyway?” Rufus sat down next to Denise, and crossed his arms. “He can’t be worse than Jack the Ripper.”

“Rufus, dear, I’m not sure who that is.” The clock chimed. “Ah, six o’clock. We’re late for dinner.”

She crossed over to Wyatt, and took his hands in her own. Her grip was strong. 

“We’ll figure this out, Wyatt. Everything is going to be okay.” She murmured, squeezing his hands. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.” She replied, smiling gently and ushering them both to the great hall. 

\---

Wyatt really, really didn’t want to be here, but Denise had said he should be. So, he knocked on the door gently, hoping that Professor Flynn wasn’t around. Denise had said he was usually there, setting up classes and brewing potions on the side, that he didn’t mind visitors, but still. He hated intruding like this. 

So, as usual, he ignored the angel on his shoulder and knocked again, louder. Nothing.

Wyatt checked his pocket watch - it was 4pm, a perfectly sensible time, but he was a normal human being. He’d heard rumours about this guy. Apparently, according to the chatty Languages Professor he’d spoken with at dinner last night, this Flynn guy was Eastern European. He went to Durmstrang, and after he graduated, he’d taught there for a while. Then his wife and child were killed. Nobody knew why or how.

“Apparently, mate, he asked for the transfer here because it was them Death Eaters. You never know, though, rumour mill does love to turn.” She’d winked, like it was a conspiracy, and took a huge swig of pumpkin juice. Rufus had looked like he was having an aneurysm. She’d been useful, though, and Wyatt had pumped her for more information than he’d ever gotten out of anyone. Which had led him here.

The sound of thundering footsteps brought him back to the world, and as the bolt on the door unlatched he had the sudden, intrusive thought that he’d made a terrible mistake. That he should run.

Unfortunately, he decided to hold his ground, refuse to look like a lost puppy, and square his shoulders.

The door opened; all he saw was six-foot-four of muscular rage, disguised as a vaguely gothic Potions Master, and he almost let out a whimper. The look of pure contempt on this man’s face was both terrifying and arousing, and Wyatt was three  _ thousand  _ percent sure he was about to get brutally murdered.

“Professor Flynn?”


	3. Garcia I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is alternatively titled 'Garcia Flynn, What the Fuck?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi  
> writing is hard at the moment but it's happening. slowly but surely, it's happening.  
> all my love to @deathbypastry because mwah. I'm tired. okay. have fun with these messy, messy boys  
> stay safe y'all <3

Garcia wasn’t exactly busy, and by that he meant he was very busy brewing potions. He’d finished the second to last step in his current project - something new he was trying - and he needed to wait an hour before adding any powdered nightshade. The longer an ingredient like that cooks, the less potent the potion will be, especially for a sleeping draught. So he shouldn’t have been so irked by the knock on the door, but the really, really was. 

“It’s the new guy.” Jiya declared, a knowing gleam in her eyes. He looked over at her after she spoke - he’d actually forgotten she was there, curled up on his sofa, smirking at him over her newspaper.

“Again,  _ prorok,  _ how do you actually know this stuff?” Jiya’s only response was to wiggle her fingers in a vague sort of way. He huffed out a laugh, and crossed over to the other side of his cauldron so he was facing her. “You  _ know _ the other guy, right?”

“Garcia Flynn, I do not want to talk about my feelings for that idiot man.”

“Oh, are you sure?” He grinned at her, teasing. “I’ll talk about my big boy feelings too, if you want.”

“I would rather get Bat-Bogeyed by a Death Eater again, Flynn.”

The knock at the door sounded through the room again, louder this time - he frowned, and she glared at him in a way that said she’d kill him several different ways if he ignored it. He grumbled, cursing the day he ever decided to teach at Hogwarts, and finally opened the door. 

“Professor Flynn?” The man said. “I’m, uh. I’m Wyatt Logan? I’m going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year.”

The first thing that shocked him was the man’s accent - it was thick, his voice deeper in pitch than he’d expect from a man of such… stature. Secondly was the boyish good looks, and as Garcia looked him up and down, only one thought entered his head. 

He was so screwed. 

“What do  _ you _ want?” He managed to reply, almost a full minute later, and he cursed internally. That was a little more blunt than he’d have liked it to be, and he could hear Jiya snort to herself on his sofa. 

Wyatt looked only vaguely affronted at that, a clear success, and then he visibly settled down, and smiled. 

_ He’s pretty!  _ His traitorous brain supplied, and Garcia winced slightly. The smile! Fake as it was, it transformed Wyatt’s face into a solid ten out of ten - what was broodingly handsome turned outright adorable and Garcia was definitely having a stroke. That’s the only explanation.

“Ah, well. I wanted to ask you about Dave, I mean… Professor Baumgardner. He and I are good friends, and, um…” Wyatt trailed off, managing to look both unsure and insistent. “But if you’re busy, I can come back?”

Garcia blinked. The silence stretched on. 

“Um,” He licked his lips, and Jiya coughed very pointedly from behind him.  “Yes, of course, come in.”

He choked out the reply and moved aside, letting Wyatt in the room. He proceeded to stare around at all the potion ingredients filling the shelves, and Garcia found himself drifting off again, admiring his guest’s muscles. Jiya seemed to find the whole thing absolutely hilarious, even if she was hiding her glee in favour of analysing Wyatt. 

“Oh, hi, sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was here.” He made his way over to her and offered his hand to shake. Jiya took it, looking incredibly amused. “I’m Wyatt.”

“I’m Jiya, resident Seer and Divination professor. You’re welcome to come up to my tower any time you’d like.” She grinned, shark-like, and Wyatt managed to look somewhere between baffled and grateful. Garcia coughed, hoping that Jiya would get the hint. She didn’t.

Wyatt turned back towards Garcia and smiled again. Jiya winked at him from behind Wyatt’s back, and gave him a little thumbs up. Garcia had to use most of his restraint to resist calling her every name in the book.

“I’m sorry if we, ah, got off on the wrong foot.” Garcia began, attempting to smile. Wyatt looked like he’d been hit by a Confundus spell. “Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, no, no thank you, I shouldn’t stay long. You seem busy.” Wyatt was acting like he wanted to ground to swallow him up, and Garcia couldn’t say that he’d mind the same fate. “I should… go. Probably.”

“Do you want to go?” Garcia blurted, and Jiya looked at him like she was going to murder him for saying such a stupid thing. “I mean, ah…”

“Do you want me to go?”

“I have a few potions that need… brewing.” Garcia began. He suddenly felt awful at the look of pure disappointment on Wyatt’s face, and felt intimidated once again by Jiya’s frosty glare. 

“But you can stay. It helps, sometimes… to have someone else… here?” He finished, gesturing vaguely.

( _ Excuses, excuses!  _ His traitorous damn brain.)

–

Wyatt left the dungeon two and a half cups of tea later, when the sleeping draught was finished. Garcia almost wanted him to stay longer. 

None of them had really talked much, but Jiya had kept giving him encouraging looks when he did say anything, and he was just about ready to strangle her. Sure, she was like a sister to him. That didn’t mean that he didn’t want to violently murder her in her sleep several times a day. 

But still, they’d talked a little. Wyatt had seemed to sense that Dave was a sensitive topic for all of them, Jiya included, and didn’t press like he clearly wanted to. He only really ended up asking what kind of teacher Dave was.

“Kind,” Jiya had supplied. “He was fair, and honest, and liked doing practical stuff. Most kids liked him.”

“Sounds like my Dave,” Wyatt had responded, raising his teacup in a toast.

Every time Wyatt even so much as glanced in his direction, Garcia’s blood would run a little hotter, as if his body was going into ‘fight or flight’ mode. It wasn’t ideal, sure, but he made it work, he liked to think. 

Apparently, he was wrong. Jiya backhanded his shoulder the second Wyatt left.

“Ah - Jiya!”

“What in the name of Merlin’s saggy left ballsack is wrong with you?!” Jiya rounded on him, looking like she was two seconds away from putting him in a headlock. 

“What does that even  _ mean _ ?”

“That man is five-foot-ten of pure sex, and you treated him like he’d just insulted your favourite Quidditch team!” She was only a few decibels from straight up yelling at him, and Garcia found himself shrinking back slightly. Last time she’d been this angry, she’d broken one of his pewter cauldrons.

“I-  _ what? _ ” He spluttered a moment, gesticulating wildly.

“You know what I mean!” 

He maneuvered behind the nearest desk - Jiya may have looked tiny to him, but she was far stronger than most people would ever give her credit for. He’d been on the receiving end of her Jelly-Legs Jinx more than once, and oh boy. It wasn’t worth it. 

He decided that ignoring the issue was the best plan, and tried to pretend to clean up. She just looked at him like she was ready for murder. She decided to be the bigger witch, and went over to her things, grabbed her wand and newspaper, muttering about how stupid men were, why was she ever attracted to any of them in the first place, why was she even friends with such a moron-

“You do realise I can hear you, Jiya, right?” He quipped, and ducked when she threw her newspaper at him. He was trying very hard not to laugh. He knew she could tell. 

He threw it back to her, and she narrowed her eyes very dangerously at him.

“Garcia Flynn, mark my words,” she said, brandishing her paper at him like it was a weapon. “You, and Logan, are made for each other. You’re both disasters.”

“Whatever you say,  _ prorok. _ ” Garcia replied, trying for nonchalant. She stormed out of the room, robes flowing behind her, and he loitered at the door to give her an irritatingly jaunty wave goodbye. 

Garcia shut the door, and he leaned against the doorframe, trying not to scream. What the Hell  _ is  _ wrong with him? He saw one attractive man and completely lost his cool, acting like a lovestruck teenager, like he was suddenly twelve and in Durmstrang and also an idiot. He wasn’t like this when he met Professor Wallace, he was fine and he acted normally, but no. One guy with blue eyes and dimples and he’s gone. 

He was  _ so screwed.  _

–

If anyone thought that meeting Wyatt had gone poorly, then they had another thing coming to them.

It was one of the rare occasions that he needed something from his storeroom, on the first floor. It was, coincidentally, right near Professor Wallace’s classroom - a perfect excuse to put his head through the door and say hello - and not too far away from the Muggle Studies classroom, either. So, he put his head through the door like he’d planned, said hello to Lucy, and went along his merry way, trying not to do something stupid like blush, or flirt with her. 

(She’d looked faintly amused the whole time, and Garcia wanted to brain himself on the flagstones.)

“Okay, ah, belladonna, and hellebore, antimony, asphodel…” He murmured as he collected the ingredients in a small basket. 

“Oh, hey, man. You’re Professor Garcia Flynn, right?” Garcia turned, meeting the gaze of who he knew was Rufus Carlin. 

“What?”

“...Rufus Carlin. Muggle Studies.” Rufus pointed to himself, looking moderately offended.

“That’s nice.” Garcia’s attention was still on locating the Jewelweed.

“You do realise how rude you’re being, right?”

“...yes…” Garcia muttered, finally locating his last ingredient and shoving it in his basket. He ended up sort of looming over Rufus, who was trying not to look intimidated, and Garcia narrowed his eyes. “Muggle Studies?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Oh, nothing. If you need any information about people outside of the UK, avoid the Daily Prophet.” Garcia said, pointing carefully. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“I’m a Half-blood, Flynn. I know about Muggle culture.” Rufus folded his arms. “Unlike some, I try to educate myself before I educate others.”

“What is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

“I heard you caused a few… explosions. At Durmstrang. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Rufus took a step closer, his neck craning to meet Flynn’s eyes.

“What does it matter to you why I’m here?” Flynn took a step back, picking up his basket and arching an eyebrow. 

“I heard some really nasty stuff.” Flynn’s eyes shot up at that. “All I wanted was to hear it firsthand. Guess they’re right.”

“If you’re here to spread rumours, you aren’t going to last long,  _ Professor. _ ” Flynn declared, standing to his full height. “I suggest you remember that.”

Rufus was starting to look even more offended. As Garcia passed him, he couldn’t help but mutter into Rufus’ ear:

“People who look into things like Dave’s death? That never ends well.”

Garcia walked down the hallway, trying not to grin or freak out or  do something equally embarrassing. And then,  _ oh.  _

Of course, naturally, the first thing to do when you find a new enemy is to snoop, right?

Right?

Well, it went wrong. Garcia would never be the first to admit it, but he’d admit it alright, and it went really, really wrong. 

There was  _ nothing. _

So yeah, this Rufus guy had a picture of Jiya and some Hufflepuff named Karl on his desk, and they were smiling happily in the photograph. That was vaguely interesting, but other than that? Not a trace. Nothing. He wasn’t sure where Rufus had even gotten that information about the Durmstrang explosion from, but he had it, and now Garcia needed to find that leak. The Statute was at risk, surely, by having this outsider know about that. Garcia needed to find that  _ leak.  _

Except that that annoying creaking sounds wasn’t a leaking pipe, like he’d heard in that Muggle prison he’d escaped from, and when he turned, hands still stuffed in Rufus’ desk drawer, he almost gasped. Almost. 

“What in the name of Merlin’s soggy loincloth are you doing in my office?” Rufus said, looking positively murderous. 

Oh,  _ damn.  _


	4. Interlude: Lucy I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pretty short, but necessary, and i'm going to update again as soon as I can to thank you all for your patience on this one. really. mwah.  
> thanks as always to my glorious beta, @deathbypastry! she's got possibly my favourite s3 fic ever so check her out.  
> stay safe, my darlings! <3

Lucy wasn’t sure how she got there. 

She was spending upwards of ten hours a day preparing for the new cohort, making sure her lessons were thoughtful, engaging, fun. She was going to be better than the ghostly Professor Binns if it killed her, and oh boy, was it killing her. 

Even during her N.E.W.T.s, she’d never been in the library this much. It was all her old favourite books, ones that she’d had to hide from her mother at home. Her mother had always wanted her to be more caring, more interested in healing, like her boyfriend Noah, or even Herbology and magical creatures like Amy. History was her mother’s legacy, and if Carol ever found out that Lucy enjoyed it too? She’d never have heard the end of it. But she passed everything with flying colours, against all odds, and then left home to live in a secluded London suburb. 

Her thoughts were taking an unexpected turn when her clock chimed, someone knocked at the door, and her barometer changed to  _ Danger. _

Gripping her wand tightly under her robes, she made her way to the door, and opened it to a nearly apoplectic Rufus. 

“Ah, just the face I was looking for.” Rufus moved past her into her classroom, and immediately started pacing.

“Rufus?” Lucy adjusted her glasses, and then frowned at the sheer amount of sarcasm his words held. “What’s up?”

“What’s  _ up _ ?  _ What’s up? _ ” Rufus started pacing around the room, hands flying. “Oh, I’ll tell you what’s up!”

“Rufus,  _ what is going on? _ ”

“Garcia Flynn is what’s happening.” Rufus grabbed her cup of tea and downed it in one gulp.

Lucy sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Come on, sit down, talk to me.”

Rufus gave her a narrow little look, as if to say “I know you know what’s happening here.” Lucy elected to ignore it in favour of pouring Rufus a fresh cup of tea and Transfiguring a more comfortable chair out of the other teacup. Rufus sank down into it, sipping his tea with a vaguely disgruntled look on his face, and Lucy took a deep breath.

“Look, okay I know he’s a bit prickly-,”

“ _ Prickly _ ?”

“Okay, he’s an arsehole sometimes, but he’s been through a lot, Rufus.”

“He’s threatened me three times!” Rufus exclaimed, hands waving. “He has managed to threaten me three whole times in the space of a single day because he’s a nuclear trash fire, honestly.”

“He’s threatened you? How?!”

“I was trying to introduce myself to him and he brushed me off, I told him he was being rude, and it escalated. He ended up ‘ _ warning’  _ me,” He gestured wildly again. “That people who look into things like Dave’s disappearance? They get killed!”

“Okay, that’s… bad. That’s very bad, Rufus, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared, okay.” Rufus rubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t sure if he was posturing or making a real threat.”

“That’s fair. Okay. What about the other times?”

“I spilled some pumpkin juice on the table this morning, and he growled very threateningly. Then, a few minutes later, he glared at me for reading a Muggle book. I’m counting that as one incident.” Rufus took another sip of tea, and looked Lucy directly in the eye. “Then… just now, I went into my office, and he was there, looking through my drawers. We argued.”

“Okay. That sounds shady, but maybe he’s got legitimate reasons. We don’t know that.”

“No, he said he was snooping. He literally  _ said he was snooping.  _ Then he loomed. Lucy, he looms. Why is he so tall?”

“I ask myself that every day.” Lucy set her cup down, sighing. “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Yeah. Talk to him, or to Denise, just… someone. Just to see what’s up. I do  _ not  _ want to duel this guy.”

“That’s wise, he was Russia’s equivalent of an Auror while he was there. He’s tough.” Lucy leaned in, conspiratorial. “I heard that..”

“That what?”

“That he and Wyatt are getting along just fine. I can talk to him, see what’s happening. Would that make you feel better?”

“It really would.” Rufus finally smiled. “Thanks, Lucy.”

“Anytime you need me, I’m here. Okay?”

“Okay.” Rufus’ lips twitched upwards further, into the start of a grin. “Maybe ‘okay’ can be our always.”

Lucy just shot him a withering look, and shooed him out of the door. She had lessons to plan, after all. 

\--

“Professor Wallace?”

“Ah, Wyatt, just the man I was hoping to see.” Lucy really hoped that Wyatt didn’t know how puppyish he got whenever he was around her. She rather enjoyed it, and she suspected Garcia did too, but others… no. She wasn’t going there. “How is everything going?”

“It’s going well, thank you, ma’am.”

Lucy’s chest tightened. “Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Of course ma- I mean. Lucy. Sure.” Wyatt visibly swallowed, and looked her in the eye. “I was wondering… do you have any last minute advice? Classes start tomorrow, after all.” 

“Don’t let them use the Bat-Bogey Hex if they’re under fifteen. There was an incident.” She paused a moment, letting his surprised chuckle die down, and really looked at him. “What’s really going on?”

Wyatt sighed. “I didn’t want to start anything, but I’ve… I’ve heard rumours. About Flynn.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Wyatt proceeded to look like a deer in wandlight. 

“What rumours?”

“Okay, not rumours.”

“Not rumours.” Her voice was flat. Wyatt looked like he was calculating possible escape routes. 

“It’s… a friend. Of mine. They said that Flynn threatened them. Three times.”

“Garcia… what?” Lucy frowned, taking his elbow. They snuck into a little alcove behind a tapestry, and Wyatt looked at her like his heart totally didn’t skip a beat or four. “Why do you think Garcia would do that?”

“I don’t know!” Wyatt almost whispered the words. “I honestly don’t know, he’s awkward, sure, but from what I can tell, he’s not  _ malicious. _ ”

“I don’t know either, Wyatt, but leave it with me.”

“Lucy-,”

“I  _ said, _ ” Lucy stepped closer to him. Her tone brokered no argument. “Leave it. With me.”

“Yes ma’am.” His voice was hoarse.

“Don’t call me ma’am.” She stepped out from behind the curtain after a final imperious look.    
  



	5. Wyatt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i call this one 'wyatt has a crisis'. you're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so patiently for waiting for this one - work has been kind of sucking up all of my energy. i've got the next few chapters planned, so if you're all willing to wait a little longer, there'll be another one.   
> and kudos to Shared_Shield - they've been commenting on the last few chapters and i'm. emo. tysm.  
> my glorious beta is @deathbypastry <3  
> stay safe, loves!  
> \- t

So, Wyatt was definitely going to combust. Lucy Wallace just shouldn’t be allowed to look at  _ anyone  _ like that, let alone him. He knows he’s a walking disgrace to his profession, but in that moment, he really doesn’t care - his gut reaction was to fall to his knees and start begging to get fucked. 

Sue him.

He went back to his office, determined to last at least until after the Sorting Ceremony, and busied himself with work. Planning. More. Damn. Planning. 

But even still, his mind wandered - it was only two in the afternoon, and he had hours before the kids even arrived. He could go and bug Flynn, but he knew that in his current state, Wyatt would just not be able to cope with it, teasing and lingering glares aside. He could go see Rufus or Lucy, but those just spelled a similar disaster. His mind wandered to when he and Flynn first met - only two weeks ago - and Wyatt couldn’t help but embellish the memory. Flynn’s eyes dragging down Wyatt’s body like a prime cut of meat, the cursed way that he licked his lips before inviting Wyatt in…

Wyatt sighed, and unbuttoned his trousers.

\--

He wasn’t too fond of the Sorting Ceremony. When he first arrived at Hogwarts, Wyatt was an underfed, terrified kid with approximately no knowledge of what the Hell was going on. 

He could see it reflected in these kids’ faces, too. A few of the first-years were grinning, and every house welcomed each new member with raucous cheer. He remembered getting Sorted into Hufflepuff, being completely confused as to why he was there instead of with Dave over at the Gryffindor table. Wyatt had finally made a friend, albeit on the train, and they got ripped away from each other almost immediately. Then a third-year named Noah had sidled up to him, offered him a goblet of pumpkin juice, and grinned at him like they knew each other’s deepest secrets. 

His body went on autopilot; his hands clapped, his mouth smiled, his lungs breathed, but he was stuck in the past. Denise kept sending him worried looks, occasionally nudging him with her elbow when he didn’t react quickly enough, but it was like a trance. Each kid would be defined by this moment, the moment where you got called brave, clever, loyal, or ambitious, and then that’s it. You’re defined by it. Permanently. 

He could tell the other teachers saw it as a formality, just a fun way of grouping like-minded peers to make them easier to teach. But Wyatt? Oh no. Wyatt had Opinions.

When Wyatt applied to become an Auror, people frowned. His father laughed. His friends supported him, sure, they were mostly Hufflepuffs, what else were they supposed to do? His teachers (apart from Denise) tried pushing him towards Herbology, or Arithmancy, or even Divination, but he couldn’t - that was what everyone  _ else  _ was good at, not him.

At his Auror interview, they openly sneered at a Hufflepuff applicant. They ignored all his Outstanding O.W.L.s, and his Exceeds Expectations N.E.W.T.s, and saw a Muggleborn Hufflepuff wanting to do a Pureblood Gryffindor’s job. 

(Denise pushed him towards it, mostly out of spite. Everyone had told her that a woman couldn’t be an Auror. She became the best, and then retired to teach Transfiguration.)

Then the feast began. It did thrill him in a certain way, the look of pure joy on these kids’ faces; some of them had clearly never eaten good food before, and it showed. He looked at what he’d piled on his plate, body still moving on instinct, and he felt his lips stretching into an almost rueful smile. 

“Pie, mashed potatoes, Haggis, and gravy,” Denise chuckled next to him. “You can tell you’re Scottish at heart.”

“Well, you know. Can’t help where we come from.” Wyatt thickened his accent even more, to Denise’s apparent delight, and his smile grew when he saw what she’d put on her own plate. “I can’t  _ believe  _ that the elves made you Indian food again.”

“Well, they know to keep on my good side.” Denise laughed. “I remember, my first day here, they’d never seen a good masala before, so I gave them some my mother had made me. I think one of them cried.”

Wyatt nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah, sounds about right. I spent a disproportionate amount of time with them when I was younger, and let me tell you, they are, like. What’s the opposite of repressed?”

Denise’s laugh caught Rufus’ attention, and he leaned over, conspiratorial. “What are you guys giggling about?”

“House elves. They’re so…” Wyatt trailed off. “I don’t know. Free? Uninhibited? But, like, emotionally.”

“Yeah, I get you.” Rufus shoved some pie into his mouth - corned beef, pure excellency - and chewed thoughtfully. “Hey, did you find anything more about…”

Wyatt nodded, grinning slightly at Rufus’ vague gestures as he spoke about a small project they’d started. Denise frowned and laughed at all the right points, aware that the kids were all watching the two new guys. 

The feast passed in fits and starts - at some points, Wyatt would realise that half an hour had flown by, passed in pumpkin juice and Haggis, and at others, mouthfuls would feel like they lasted for days. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, just odd.

When he left the Great Hall after Headmistress McGonagall’s speech, he found himself walking towards his classroom again. Denise had gone off to introduce the first-year Gryffindors to life at Hogwarts, and Rufus made some kind of stuttered, grumbling excuse and walked very quickly in the opposite direction, like he was spooked by some unknown force. 

(Wyatt noticed Jiya striding off to her tower in a cloud of incense and robes, and grinned to himself. He  _ knew  _ something was going on there, he just couldn’t get it yet.)

In Wyatt’s food-driven haze, he stumbled into a very disgruntled Garcia Flynn, who grabbed his arms to keep them both upright. They stared at each other for a moment, before noticing the crowded hallway and the gawking kids, and stepping quickly apart.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Wyatt blurted, cursing himself the second he spoke. 

“No, I don’t think I will, Professor. Good luck with your class tomorrow.” Garcia almost growled, and then whirled around, striding off towards his dungeon. Wyatt followed him. You know. Like an idiot. 

“Flynn, I’m-,” Wyatt began, sliding around and between the kids to keep up. “I’m… oh, excuse me, excuse me, sorry… Flynn!”

Wyatt managed to keep up with him through two flights of stairs and a hallway before losing sight of him by the Hufflepuff common room.

Damn.

Now, Wyatt told himself that he wasn’t going to get preoccupied with losing his target in a crowd like that (Flynn’s six foot four! How did Wyatt lose him!), but he just couldn’t get it off his mind. He woke up early, earlier than he’d planned. It was still dark out, but he was sure he’d forgotten something for the lessons today and well, he’s up, right? What’s the harm?

It was five o’clock in the morning by the time Wyatt had made himself presentable enough to walk through the castle, and it was half past by the time he got to his classroom. He set up the room, nerves pooling in his stomach, and by the time he’d finished  _ that _ , he’d missed breakfast. It was roughly nine o’clock by the time kids started entering his room, and Wyatt set down his tea - the fourth cup that morning - and stood up to greet them. 

His first class: third years, a blend of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, mixed ability. 

Wyatt took a deep breath. 

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Professor Logan, and I’m going to be your Defense against the Dark Arts teacher for now. Everybody, take a seat, please.”

\--

“Okay, thank you all for paying attention today, I know this wasn’t too much fun, but it’s necessary. We’ll get on to defensive techniques next week! Thank you! Excuse, me, Miss Shakesman, your quill!”

He was going to collapse in the next five seconds if he didn’t sit down. 

A full day’s non-stop teaching can take its toll on a man, especially when two of his five classes were first-years and the other three didn’t know which way their arse was after being passed around teachers like hot potatoes. 

“Professor?” A quiet voice at his elbow startled him out of his reverie.

“Yes, ah… Mr. Lynch?”

“I… um…” Lynch was small for a third-year, and Wyatt leaned on the nearest desk to get down closer to his height. “I wanted to say I really liked this lesson.”

“I’m very happy to hear that, Mr. Lynch. You prefer theory?”

“Yeah. I’m...uh. My mother always…” Lynch trailed off, looking uncertain. He tried to stutter out the end of the sentence, which ended up being mostly unintelligible, but Wyatt got the gist anyway.

“Look, I know I’m new, and I understand that your other teachers might not be so fun,” Wyatt could see the kid suppress a nervous giggle at his words, and leaned in closer, conspiratorial. “But if you need extra help, or even just someone to chat to, you know where I’ll be. I can’t guarantee anything, but when I can make time for you, I will. Okay?”

Lynch’s face lit up with hope. Wyatt patted the young wizard on the shoulder, who nodded before grinning and scurrying out of the room. 

Wyatt sighed, a fond little chuckle escaping as he watched. Damn midgets.

“I’m glad to see you’re settling in well.”

Wyatt turned, hand going to his wand immediately, and Denise raised her hands in surrender, a small smile playing on her petite features. 

“Yeah. It’s okay,” Wyatt grinned at her, pulling his wand out to make tea. “Not as stressful as I thought it would be.”

“Well, you’re only doing theory so far. Just wait until the practical sessions start.” Denise sat down at a desk near the front, and Wyatt pulled up a chair opposite her. “Any updates?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Rufus told me that Flynn’s acting shady, but he went to Lucy first. Couldn’t do much after that.”

Denise hummed in response around her teacup, and then frowned.

“What?” Wyatt asked, frozen. 

Gently admonishing, a little smirk on her face to soften the blow, she replied. “It’s not Earl Grey. Disgraceful, Logan, you know better.”

Wyatt chuckled, and flicked his wand to repour the pot. 


	6. Wyatt III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO  
> i'm so sorry i've been gone - writing is harder than usual for me lately and i'm trying my best. also work. also family. apologies for keeping you all waiting.   
> all my love to @deathbypastry, as usual, for being so badass and supportive.  
> enjoy!  
> \- t xo

The walk up to the Divination tower was surprisingly long. 

Wyatt wasn’t bothered at all; the grounds were just as spectacular as he remembered, and he waved hello to Amy as he passed her little cottage. He had to admit that her pumpkin patch was coming along rather nicely. She’d made considerable improvements to Hagrid’s hut, too (or perhaps her wife had made them? It wasn’t Wyatt’s business to ask). It had gone from a ramshackle little cabin to a stone cottage, extended past the previous build into somewhere that a married couple could actively live, could call home, and Wyatt felt a wave of…  _ something…  _ flow through him. He wasn’t sure what to call it, but somewhere between nostalgia and peace is the closest he could come. 

It was early, too. He’d been the only person at breakfast - except Flynn, of course, but Flynn seemed to be in the mood for avoiding all people and conversation - and he’d slowly forced himself into wakefulness. He’d long finished by the time anyone else was arriving, and as he left, he’d felt Flynn’s eyes boring holes into his back. He wasn’t sure how to deal with that. 

The wave of peace he’d felt, however, dipped as he got closer to his destination; something about Divination had always struck a chord in him, it was something that made him uneasy. But he was sure that Jiya wasn’t like his old teacher. She wasn’t stuffed up, she didn’t reek of alcohol, she didn’t speak in riddles. They’d chatted more in Flynn’s dungeon and at breakfast than anywhere else, quickly bonding over Muggle films and books. But even still, as he climbed the stairs, he had to convince himself that he was just visiting a friend, just having a chat and a cuppa. That’s all this was. She wasn’t going to reveal his deepest secrets or anything. 

Ha. 

“Hey, Logan. Want me to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets?” She was grinning, a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes, and Wyatt felt himself grinning back as she waggled her eyebrows at him. She gestured him into the room.

Wyatt was taken aback. The last time he went into the Tower, he was thirteen and it was musky with incense, the stale, slightly rancid smell of too many bodies permeating the air. Since then, much like Lucy’s classroom, it had been overhauled into a light, airy space - sure there was still incense burning, still filled with armchairs and sofas, but it no longer felt suffocating. It felt cosy, a place where you can relax, a place where you can get your… uh… psychic juices flowing?

He told Jiya as much, gesturing vaguely, and she laughed. 

“Thanks? I guess? Have some tea, Professor.” She all but shoved him into the nearest armchair, and Wyatt barked out a little laugh. They sat.

“Yeah, that’s weird. I remember hating Divination but this is kind of… chill.”  Jiya’s mouth twitched upwards in response as she poured him a cup of Darjeeling. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments as they sipped. “I’m serious, though, my Divination teacher always creeped me out. It put me off for life, I don’t know how you do it.”

“I felt the same way, too, but…” Jiya paused, thinking. “I went back to some extended family I have in Australia and they kind of just… it’s like faith to them? Like how some Muggles go to church or mosque, it’s like that. I kind of just picked it up. I also met a hotdog witch.”

Wyatt couldn’t help but give her a withering look.

“I can tell you’re not into it like I am, but… I am going to read your tea leaves. If that’s okay.” Jiya continued, and Wyatt was startled. No-one had asked him before.

“Yeah, sure. Why not.” Wyatt finished the cup, scalding his mouth slightly in the process, and handed it over to her. 

She didn’t say much, just studied the cup for a few moments and set it back down to pour him a new one. “You’re going to fall in love. And you hate Darjeeling.”

That startled an incredulous laugh out of Wyatt. He’d been expecting mystical revelations about his past and how it’ll shape his future, accompanied by wide, sweeping gestures of faith and the jangling of too many bracelets. Not certainty and a brusque confession. 

“Um…” Wyatt stuttered. “Darjeeling, y’know, it’s... fine?”

“That’s weak and you know it.” Jiya chuckled to herself, getting out her wand. The next cup she handed him was a green and pomegranate blend, and he smiled to himself. “This should be more your taste, I think.”

“Hardly very manly,” Wyatt took a huge gulp, completely shameless, and the taste put a silly little smile on his face. “So, what’s up?”

“The usual. Kids not doing their homework, or even kids doing their homework but it’s so obviously fake that I have to give them a bad grade. What’s so hard about keeping a dream journal?”

“Many, many things, Professor. Trust me.”

“Don’t you give me the nightmares speech, Wyatt Logan, I’ve heard it from bigger arseholes than you.” Jiya reprimanded him gently, a sly smile on her face as she sipped.

“I just meant that dream journals are super personal.” Wyatt leaned in close. “Like, sex dreams? You aren’t going to journal about them, are you?”

“I have and I will.” Jiya got up, and Wyatt caught a whiff of her perfume. Lavender. “And yes, that’s a threat. That reminds me...”

Jiya walked over to her bookshelf - a ginormous hunk of wood that really belonged in a library - and took one. She brought it over to him, pressing it into his hands with surprising force. 

“...Thank you?” Wyatt lifted it up, squinting at the cover. “‘ _ Great Wizarding Families’ _ ?” 

“It’s mine, so I’d like it back.”

“Of... course… but, Jiya, before I go,” Wyatt began, and he saw her stiffen ever so slightly. She maintained her composure, however, and as she sat, she gestured for him to continue. “I really was hoping you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about Dave.”

“Of course.” Her throat seemed tight as she spoke. “What do you need to know?”

“Was he acting strangely?”

“No stranger than usual. He was still the human embodiment of a Labrador Retriever.”

Wyatt nodded. “Any funky rumours? Was he seeing anyone?”

“Not that I know of, but you know how rumour mill likes to churn.”

“And just… well. Is there anything you think I should know? About the job, about life here.”

Jiya laughed a little, and shook her head. “Nah. Lucy’s got you covered. In more ways than one, it seems.”

“Jiya!”

\--

“So, I heard Jiya’s been giving you reading material.” A week later. Lucy looked up at him from where she was hunched over a pile of parchment.

“Yeah, don’t ask me why though.”

“Keeping secrets from me already?” Lucy tutted, and Wyatt’s eyes widened in surprise from across the bench. 

“What! No? Why would you-,”

“You’re okay, Wyatt.” Lucy teased, a little grin playing around her mouth. Wyatt tried very hard not to stare. “It’s not like we’re in each other’s pockets yet.”

_ Yet.  _ Wyatt’s brain supplied. He willed it into silence, and tried to forget the way Lucy looked at him from underneath her lashes.

“Ha, yeah. Like that’s ever going to happen.” Wyatt bluffed, grabbing his cup of peppermint tea. Lucy’s favourite.

She just squinted at him. 

\--

“Alright everybody, thank you for paying attention this lesson! If you can make sure you complete your write-up of today’s practical work by Friday, I can mark them over the weekend.” Wyatt announced, pushing up from behind his desk.

“But Professor, there’s still five minutes left?” Mr Lynch put up his hand, and everyone in the class rolled their eyes. Hannah Jones shushed him harshly under her breath, glaring at the back of his head. Wyatt was fairly sure she was calling him a ‘Mudblood’ under her breath. 

“Everyone except Miss Jones and Miss Shakesman can leave early, then. It’s almost the end of the day, one class to go.” Wyatt shooed most of the class out, praising a few of them for their wandwork. Stun spells aren’t easy, especially not for thirteen year olds, and they’d only started practical spells at the beginning of October - two weeks since then had passed in drizzle and paperwork. 

He turned. Miss Jones was stood there, belligerent, unrepentant, the very picture of Gryffindor rebellion. She spoke. “What’s wrong, Professor?”

“What’s wrong, Miss Jones, is that you were rude to your classmate. Five points from Gryffindor.” Miss Jones spluttered in protest, but Wyatt quelled her with a stern, meaningful glare. “Count this as a warning, Miss Jones. Remind yourself of the class rules, and the next time you break them, it’ll be ten points.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“That’s okay. You do good classwork, so don’t spoil it with being a troublemaker, okay?” She nodded, fidgeting under Wyatt’s gaze. “Alright, go on. Get to your next class.”

She scurried off, her robes flying out behind her. Behind him, Miss Shakesman cleared her throat.

“Why have you kept me behind, sir?” Miss Shakesman was a Slytherin, tall for her age, and her accent was thick enough to rival Wyatt’s own. 

“It’s because I still haven’t received your essay from last week. If you needed an extension, all you had to do was ask - I know you’re taking more classes than most in your year.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Wyatt thought for a moment, before sighing and sitting down at the desk next to her. “Look, Miss Shakesman. I noticed that sometimes you struggle with writing. Is that true?”

Shakesman looked terrified, but nodded. “It’s just hard, Professor. The words don’t happen right. It’s why I take Creatures and Arithmancy.”

“The letters, do they move around on the page?”

“No, Professor. It’s like… I can think the words, but actually writing them is hard.” She swallowed hard, and looked down. “I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not stupid. You actually one of the best in the class when it comes to practical work.” Wyatt smiled, thin but reassuring, and she sighed in relief. “But I do need that essay. Even if it’s only one or two feet of parchment, I need something.”

“But it’s writing them, Professor. That’s the hard part.”

Wyatt hummed, thoughtful. “How would you feel about making a homework club?”

“A… homework club?” She tilted her head, confused. 

“Yeah!” He grinned at her. “It’s something I saw at a Muggle school. Some of the students who struggled with their homework would all get together and help each other, and a teacher would host it, like a book club or something. I know some of the other students would appreciate it. Would you?” 

Miss Shakesman looked almost in awe, nodding her head profusely. 

“Well, that settles it, then.” He stood up, and she followed, gathering her things. “I’ll discuss it with Professor Christopher, to see what she thinks. In the meantime, just try your best - quality, not quantity. That’s all we can ask, okay?”

“Thanks, sir!” She grinned, and sped from the room. He laughed a little to himself, and grabbed his things, too. He’d finished his last lesson of the day, and he was ready to kick back by the fire in his office with a nice glass of whiskey. 

_ No.  _ He thought, shaking himself out of his reverie.  _ No drinks. _

He sighed, and walked down towards the Great Hall instead.

\--

In the end, he sat near Lucy and Jiya; Rufus was on the other side of the room, avoiding Flynn by talking to a red-haired Yorkshire woman that they’d met on their first day. They seemed to be getting along well, from what Wyatt could see, and he grinned into his pie. He’s glad someone can make friends. 

Speaking of which. 

“Hey, Wyatt, you like Muggle music, right?” Jiya was a Pureblood, a Seer, and had been raised in fully wizarding family. He nodded in response, to which Lucy grinned.

“Because Jiya doesn’t believe that there’s really a song called Rasputin talking about his prowess with women.” She said, and Wyatt couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that, causing a few people in the hall to look over in confusion. He tried to tamp down his giggles, but failed miserably at the sight of Jiya’s appalled grin. 

“It just sounds fake! There’s no way that’s real, Wyatt, c’mon.” 

He just laughed, and sang quietly: “ _ Ra-ra-Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen,  _ _ there was a cat that really was gone… _ ”

Jiya gasped. “No! No way!”

“ _ Ra-ra-Rasputin, Russia's greatest love machine, it was a shame how he carried on… _ ” He couldn’t help but continue, and Lucy joined in, her voice light and smooth. He took a swig of pumpkin juice, enjoying the moment as all three of them laughed at Jiya’s complete horror, Jiya herself included, and he and Lucy spent the rest of the meal telling Jiya about the weirdest Muggle customs. 

While Lucy was a Pureblood too, her father Henry had been especially interested in Muggle culture, and it showed in Lucy’s vast knowledge. She understood everything from Victorian society’s weird obsession with nipple rings to the Vengaboys’ hits, and Wyatt was just in awe. He was also fairly sure she caught him staring at her a few times, but she said nothing - he tried his best to stop, but she really was his type. Strong, independent, brunette, smart as hell, funny, kind. He’s certain that she was looking at him, too; a small smile rested on her face the entire evening, and unless he’d read it really wrong, it wasn’t because of Jiya. 

(He could be wrong, though. It wasn’t the first time. He’d thought Jess was straight until she’d grabbed Emma Whitmore by the lapels and kissed her in front of the entire library. They all knew how that had ended.)

After they’d all eaten, he’d gone up to bed with a smile on his face.


	7. Lucy II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm outrageous, and i'm sorry. writing is hard ect ect  
> (i really am sorry)  
> i hope you enjoy this! it's short and i'm still getting used to lucy's inner voice but i like this one.   
> all my love to @deathbypastry and @madsthenerdygirl. they're so supportive uwu  
> stay safe, darlings!  
> -t

Because of course the only wizarding school in the country is located in the Scottish highlands, the weather took a turn for the worse the week before Christmas. The rain was slowly turning into sleet the longer she stared, and her breath was fogging up the cut glass window panes. 

Still, she turned to the class, forcing a smile across her face. “I know it’s cold out, I know it’s nearly Christmas, but we do need to start this week’s topic.”

She strode across the room, her old familiar confidence spreading through her until her smile was genuine and her back was straight. She took her wand out of her robes, twirling it in her fingers as she turned, to face the blackboard. She deliberates for a moment before waving it - even still, the words “World War One” scrawl themselves across the board in large cursive, and she hears a couple of the Muggleborn students gasp. Whether it was excitement or not, she couldn’t tell, but it did bring another smile to her face. 

“Okay, everybody, quills out. I’m going to tell you about a Muggle war that happened in the years 1914 to 1919. It’s quite complicated, so I do need your full attention.”

“Professor?” 

“Yes, Sabrina?” 

“Why are we learning about Muggle history? Isn’t this supposed to be about us?” Sabrina was a Pureblood, unlike many in this class. She saw a few students bristle slightly.

This happened every time; she’d been teaching at Hogwarts for seven years, and each time there was a Muggle-centric topic introduced, at least one of the kids complained. The Purebloods, usually, but one special Muggleborn had done it too, when she’d started in on American history. She sighed slightly under her breath. At least this topic was loosely related to the wizarding world. 

“I teach history. Muggle history is just as important as wizarding history is - it’s still our world, is it not? And even more importantly, this war affected the our community just as much as it did the Muggle community.” She leaned on her desk, and took a deep breath. 

Into the fray.

\--

The weather outside was reminding her of possibly the worst day of her life. It had been cold - almost shockingly so, ten below freezing - when she’d left for Hogwarts. She had Apparated as close as she could, but there was a heavy wind, and sleet, and she’d almost died before she’d gotten to Amy’s hut. She’d knocked on the door, frozen to the bone, lips blue, shivering, and Amy had opened it. 

She’d stayed there with her sister for an entire six months before she could sleep a full night again, working on their garden over into the summer. Then she’d been offered a teaching post for the new year, and that was it. 

She’d reasoned that it was only natural to accept; a shiny light in the darkest tunnel she’d ever been in. Working with Denise on a curriculum, accepting order and rules from people she actually trusted, it made sense. The first term had passed quickly, endured in marking essays and teaching unrepentant morons things they didn’t care about, but it had been good for her. Hogwarts had been the only place she’d felt safe for a long, long time, and it made sense to stay there. 

(And the castle’s wards didn’t hurt.)

“Luce?” Amy said, breaking her out of her reverie. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About that day?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, their words stuck in their brains. Lucy touched the letters on the table, staring at the wax seal, her mother’s wax seal. The Rittenhouse seal. Memories were fine, if you remembered the right ones. 

Amy seemed to be on the same train of thought. “Hey, remember that summer? You and me and Dad went to the beach, and we built sandcastles and ate enough ice cream that we were sick?”

Lucy laughed, wiping her hand across her face. That had been a good holiday, two weeks without rain and her Mom’s overbearing style of parenthood. Henry had taken them to Cornwall, down to St Ive’s Bay, and they’d stayed in a small wizard-friendly inn and he’d taught them some simple charms. Lucy had been ten, and she’d gotten her Hogwarts letter the day they’d gotten back. 

“Yeah. Remember how nice Mom was once we got home?” Lucy couldn’t help the bitterness that coloured her tone. Nostalgia was great, if your childhood was a good one, if you had kind friends and fun siblings and good parents. 

_ But hey, _ she thought.  _ Two out of three isn’t bad, is it? _

Amy must have seen her face twist, because suddenly they were hugging, and Lucy was crying, and everything seemed terrible.

She’d always hated winter. 

\--

The snow had settled a week later, and even though the majority of the students had gone home for their holidays, Lucy didn’t feel the Christmas cheer. It had always been one of the worst holidays for her, being forced into helping her mother cook and inevitably disappointing her; being forced into talking about her life, how’s school Lucy, why don’t you write home more Lucy, why are your essays not getting better grades Lucy.

( _ Why are you not good enough, Lucy. _ )

She got up from their spot on the small sofa - Amy was fast asleep - and grabbed her now-cold cup of tea. Every winter she spent more time with her sister than the one before, especially since she started teaching, and this year was no different. They were both worse off now - neither of them had company with Jess gone. Their makeshift little family had dissolved as quickly as it came together. 

She downed the cup in one, wrinkling her nose at the taste. She took her things as quietly as she could, covered Amy with the patchwork quilt Jess had made, and crept out of the cottage, avoiding the creaky step out front. 

The walk back up to the castle was long but quiet, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands stuffed inside her robe pockets, her breath making clouds in the frigid air. She considered going straight to bed, but it was only seven at night, and she had some more classes to outline for the spring term, and why the Hell not? Combat your depression with productivity and all that. 

So she took a route most people didn’t, ducking through the Herbology greenhouses and up through near Transifguration, waving hello to Professor Mason when he greeted her. She made it to the library in record time, five minutes quicker than last week. She smiled to herself. Small victories. 

She eventually found the book she was looking for - a huge old tome that smelt of lavender and musk. It was so heavy that she had to carry it with both hands. She sped around the corner, and smacked into someone so hard she almost dropped it. 

“Oh, Lucy.” A gentle, accented voice said as she righted herself, clutching the book to her chest. She sighed. 

“Professor Flynn. What are you doing?” She tried not to sound suspicious, but from the look on his face, he knew he was busted. 

“Finding you, actually. I saw you walking through the greenhouses, and I assumed that you’d be here.” He ignored her second meaning, and rounded the corner beside her, pushing aside the librarian’s cart. They settled in two close armchairs near a fire. This was the restricted section, far behind the other shelves, one that even some staff didn’t go near. The books around them almost hummed with power, the magic inside dark and dangerous, and Lucy tried not to shiver. She set her own book down on the end-table, cautious, and she sighed. 

“So, Flynn. What’s happening? What do you know?”

He looked taken aback at her bluntness. “I, uh. Logan is trying his best, but he’s not making much headway. Jiya is her usual self, and she’s still avoiding Rufus. She knows we need to keep as many people as possible in the dark.”

She nodded. “And Rufus himself?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t been able to get close.”

“Yes, he mentioned it to me. Said that you threatened him.” She glared at him, expectant. “Quite an unusual strategy.”

Flynn looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus spell. 

“You did mean to threaten him, right?”

“I… no?”

“Oh my god.” She put her head in her hands, and groaned. “You’re such an idiot.”

“What do you mean, I’m an idiot?” He splutters. “He was being really pushy!”

“He was being nosy, so you threatened to kill him?” She squints at him.

“No! I tried to warn him, Lucy. I said that people who pry, they tend to get hurt. That’s all, I swear.” He leaned forward, eyes intense. She really did believe him, but they’d blown it. They needed someone else on their side. They stared at each other, thinking.

“We could get Wyatt in. He needs the help, clearly. Jiya said he’s been asking her…”

“Denise says he’s not ready yet.”

“Denise also thought that I wasn’t ready.” She gave him a pointed glare, and he spread his hands out, conceding. “We need more people. If that means getting Wyatt and maybe even Rufus on our side, then so be it. They can handle it.”

“Lucy, you can’t just… we need to discuss this, as a  _ group- _ ”

“Is everything alright?” 

They spun around towards the voice, hands immediately going for their wands, but they relaxed immediately upon seeing Denise. There was a moment of tense silence, all three of them wondering what to say, when Flynn blurted out:

“Lucy wants to bring Wyatt in.”

“Garcia!” Lucy looked outraged. 

“What! You do!”

“That doesn’t mean you just  _ say it _ !” She smacked him on the arm. “Honestly, what is wrong with you?”

“You want to do  _ what _ ?” Denise looked shocked. “He’s not ready, Lucy. He still thinks that Dave is missing.”

“We can tell him.”

“He still thinks that _ Jess _ is missing. Lucy, I know we need more help, but not him. Not yet.” If Lucy didn’t know better, she’d say that Denise was almost pleading, but the steely look in her eyes said otherwise. 

“I’m not going to lie to him if he figures it out. I won’t do that to him.”

“We know, Lucy.” Denise moved closer, and took her hand. “We wouldn’t ask you to.”

“What about Rufus?” Flynn looked exhausted. “He’s smart, he can keep a secret, and if he and Jiya make up, then maybe she’ll stop pining.”

They all thought for a moment. Flynn had a point. 

“Okay.” Lucy nodded, squeezing Denise’s hand. “Let’s bring Rufus in.”

\--

Christmas day itself was better than she’d hoped. 

Flynn and Wyatt didn’t argue - they didn’t speak much, either, but she would take what she got. Rufus had gone home to his family, but he’d left them all a week before with a jaunty wave, staunchly ignoring both Flynn and Jiya, and she spent most of the day with Amy, drinking eggnog, playing Muggle games, and losing spectacularly. Their gifts were few and far between - Jiya had gotten both her and Amy new robes, and Flynn handed her a small bottle of invisibility potion with an equally small smile. 

She tried to reciprocate. 

 


End file.
